Bonfires at Night

Well. Everybody who follows me on tumblr already knows my current obsession - Teen Wolf. God, it sounds sillier than it is. But yeah, here I am, writing fan fiction, slash fan fiction (sort of), and god, I don't even know what I'm doing. Also, it's the first time I'm actually seriously writing in English. But there's also a German version because I always have trouble deciding whether something sounds good or doesn't. 

Also, the last paragraph is sort of fucked up and hell, no, it's not finished, of course not. Yet. 

There are things Derek Hale knows. There are things he can be sure of. And these are the things he holds on to when nothing else is there to be sure of, to know. He is twenty-two years old. His family died in a fire six years ago. He is a werewolf. 

Derek doesn‘t trust persons, oh, he doesn‘t even trust himself. But he does trust truths, he does trust facts. And these things are facts. 

There are other facts in his live. One of them is Stiles. Although he doesn‘t admit it. 

Sometimes, Stiles saves Derek. He saves him when he‘s shot and when he‘s paralyzed and almost drowning. He saves him when he‘s trapped in a burning house and he saves him the nights afterwards.

Stiles isn‘t a hero.

(Except sometimes he is.)

Derek is on his back on cold, dirty stones. His ears are ringing and he remembers the woman‘s laughter when she tells him that they want Stiles. He doesn‘t know who they are and she‘s not going to tell him. They‘re not going to get Stiles is what he knows, though, and it‘s also what he tells her.